


Snowmen Don't Cry

by ch19777



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-16
Updated: 2005-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch19777/pseuds/ch19777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post episode 5x14 fic. Lorelai's POV. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sad Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Neither the show nor the characters are mine.
> 
>  **A/N:** This is a post episode 5.14 fic, written only because I had to let out the emotions after watching it. No spoilers, I don't know what will happen with Luke and Lorelai in future episodes. And I promise, if you make it through this sad first part you'll be rewarded with a happier second one soon. ;)

The feeling is marvelous. As I slowly drift to that state between sleeping and waking up, I can feel his strong and muscular body against my back, his arms are tightly wrapped around me. I sigh, soon the alarm would end this night. No need to open my eyes to check how late it is, I can almost hear how the minutes are moving faster and faster toward the time I have to get up. If I would be fully awake, I would wonder why he is still close to me and not already at the diner. Or why he is in my bed at all. But that is the tricky thing about this condition I am still in: there is no place for logic or questions.

I snuggle up to him. Maybe, if I will manage to wake up myself and him now, we will have time for a little morning delight. Half thinking, half fantasizing I weigh the probability for that, unconsciously stroking his strangely smooth arm that covers my belly. For a split second I have the crazy idea that he maybe shaved off the hairs on his arm, before the whole extent of reality hits me. I'm alone in my bed, with only tangled sheets and blankets around me. He is not here, hasn't been for many nights.

I can feel now again that numbness in my heart that I'm damned to live with already much too long. To increase my misery the stupid clock chooses this moment to bark my signal to get up. Alarm clocks with animal voices are not more fun than normal ones, not anymore. Not when nobody is here to mock me for owning such a silly thing.

I get up because I have to. If I would stay in bed I wouldn't have the chance to show the world a.k.a. the people of Stars Hollow that I'm totally fine and at ease with my situation. Lying in bed in your pajamas just doesn't have the same impact like walking down the street in your new fancy high-heeled shoes. Not even if the pajamas are flannel with ladybirds on them. Flannel. I make a mental note to erase that word from my vocabulary. Although, what difference does it make? I would have to delete many words from my memory if I didn't want to be reminded of him. Coffee for example, I think as I drink my first sip of the day. And toolbox and boat and perfect and man surely too. And love, a voice somewhere deep inside of me whispers. Not going there now, I think as a response.

I step out of the front door to bring in the drenched newspaper, stupid wet snow. And still there is not one single cat on my porch. Somehow I had expected them to show up again and was a little disappointed that they hadn't. When Rory was here last weekend I even ranted about them for almost half an hour and finished with the statement that I hate cats.

"No, you don't. Just think of Hello Kitty." my daughter told me in her calm and sensible manner.

Maybe I should just buy myself a cat and accept my destiny to be alone forever. At least I would have someone to talk to all the time, monologues in front of the bathroom mirror are getting stale after a while.

Rory comes by as often as possible, I think I've never seen her so worried about me. She is the only person who has some clue what is really going on inside of me. She knows not everything, some of the things I've thought and done I can not even share with her. But she is aware that I'm not half as happy and self-confident as I make everyone else believe. They think I got over him, that I'm willing to move on. But how could I? You don't lose your best friend and the man with whom you finally can imagine to spent the rest of your life at once and just proceed with living like nothing had happened.

Apparently the faked smile I parade on my face all day long and the laugh which is always a little bit too loud to be genuine, are convincing enough that Sookie even tried to marry me off to one of Jackson's friends last week. It's my own fault, but I just can't tell her how miserable I really feel. The sympathetic look on her face during the first week after the breakup was more than I can stand.

I'm not even able to think about someday having a relationship with another man, I almost feel physical pain whenever I try to imagine that. All I want to see in my future is him. In my mind's eye I always have a clear image of his facial expression before he had kissed me for the first time, of the way he used to sleep next to me. In my own little world of dreams we are still together, he still makes me pancakes in the morning and places kisses all over my skin at night. The memory of the day he told me that he can't be in our relationship any longer is blurry and I would rather avoid to think about it. But I don't succeed, it feels as if it would be imprinted into every cell of my body.

I'm trapped in a mix of sustained loss, guilty conscience and self-pity for almost two months now and I begin to believe that I will never recover from it. In the beginning I was angry too, but that didn't last long. How could I be angry with him when I am still full of love?

For the umpteenth time I wonder if it would have made a difference if I had told him that I love him, that he is the one for me. Whenever I'm confronted with rejection I react with pretending I didn't want what I can't have anyway, it's sheer self-protection. Only that it doesn't protect me at all.

I drive past the diner and as usually I try to catch a quick glance at him, just to see if he looks sad or happy. If he is stronger than I am and already moved on. But I guess even if he would be standing right in front of me I couldn't tell, he's just as good at hiding his feelings as I am. He takes an order of a woman at a table near the window and while I think about whether or not he is flirting with her, he suddenly looks up and his eyes meet mine. Shocked I duck my head and step on the gas. I curse myself for making a fool of myself in front of him. Again. Great, now he will think I can't even stand to see him. God, grow up Lorelai! What would have been so bad if I had looked at him longer, maybe had smiled at him? Not too much, just enough to show him that I still care. It's not that he would have recognized from the distance that it's actually more than caring for him. But what if he had frowned or turned away and by that had told me that he doesn't care for me anymore? How should I live with that?

I make it through another day at work, smiling and dealing with complaints of guests and continuing my "Luke left me. Whatever." show. It's a huge off-broadway success, I should get an award for my convincing portrayal of a lonely but happy woman in her late thirties. When I can't postpone to leave the Inn any longer without Sookie getting suspicious, I drive home. I avoid to choose the road past the diner, my newest humiliation is still too fresh as that I could bear to see him.

The house is empty -still no cat- and dark when I arrive. And cold too. I wrap myself up in a blanket and go to the kitchen to make me something to eat. He would hate the frozen pizza I plan on eating as soon as it is ready. He would cook me something healthier but nevertheless tastier. At this thought of him I feel a familiar sting in my eyes. I thought I had lost the ability to cry about a week ago, but obviously I was wrong. Warm tears are rolling down my cheeks, making me feel alive and miserable at the same time. My appetite is gone and so I turn off the oven, leave the pizza to it's fate and drag myself up the stairs and into my bed.

More tears are coming, no matter how much I want them to stop. I hate to shed tears over him again and again. The numbness which took hold of me during the last days wasn't great either, but at least it didn't cause every fiber of me to ache. Does he know what a huge void his decision has created inside of me? Can he imagine that I sometimes even question the sense of my living when I day by day do the things that are expected of me like a robot without the prospect of feeling anything different than pain ever again?

If only I found something to get better. Or at least to feel a little more like myself. It's not that this is the first time I am hurt emotionally, by far not. But this is different. It never before was so severe that I thought I might actually die, that my body would refuse to function any longer with all the strains it was forced to suffer. Maybe it is so hard to stand because he was the last person I had expected to do so much damage to my soul. Or I can't overcome this breakup because I simply love him and just can't give up the hope that he will take back the words he said on that day many weeks ago in the middle of Doose's market.

Dazed and still crying I stand up to change into my pajamas. I only want to sleep now, maybe I can find a little happiness in my dreams. When I pass the window on my way back to bed I notice that it's still snowing, that weather depresses me even more. In the past, when I was still a person who could enjoy that kind of things, I would have thought this sight was beautiful. As a child playing outside in the snow always made me happy when I felt miserable. There was no better time to think about how to repay my mother something she had done or said than while making snow angels.

I don't know if I am just sentimental or if the antidepressant I took earlier is responsible for that, but suddenly I have the urge to go outside and build a snowman. Probably I just have lost my mind completely now, it wouldn't surprise me. I run down the stairs, grab a jacket to wear it over my pajamas, put on some boots and go outside. Deeply breezing in the cold air makes me cough, my lungs are not used to that anymore. I crouch down and reach out for the freshly fallen white flakes. The coldness pricks like millions of needles at my palms and I'm amazed to feel real physical instead of emotional pain for a change. I briefly consider to go back inside and get some gloves, but who cares if I lose my fingers through frostbite or not. I begin to form a snowball with both hands, hesitantly first but soon I hastily add more and more snow. Though I almost can't feel my fingers anymore and my clothes are soaked, I just can't stop. It helps to concentrate on a task to take your mind off your worries and my current mission is to built a perfect snowman.

**TBC...**


	2. Happy Ending

This is the first time for weeks that I feel satisfied with something I accomplished. He doesn't look bad, a little taller than me and made of three symmetrically formed balls. It was difficult to pile them up, but finally I made it. He needs some decoration though. And some clothes too, it's enough that one of us feels so cold because of the low temperatures and my loneliness.

I go back inside, ignoring the tingling pain that the warmth inside the house produces in my hands and feet. I don't even try to find a carrot which could serve as a nose for the snowman, there's no such thing in my household. Of course not, I'm the queen of unhealthy eating habits. Some cookies have to be enough to create his face. He would... No! It doesn't matter what he would, he's not here. So stop thinking about him. But that's an impossible intention, not only because the next thing I stumble across as I rummage around in the cupboards is the spatula he bought me. For Christmas. Wrapped in paper with dancing reindeers on it he gave it to me on Christmas Day. Grinning roguishly he waited for my reaction when I opened it. And I had joked which not kitchen-related things one could do with such a tool since I certainly would never use it as directed. I swallow the tears that inevitably come and grab the stupid thing. I don't need it anyway, Frosty out there can have it.

Suddenly I know what to do next, after all I want the snowman to be perfect. Despite my hurting feet I manage to run up the stairs and find what I look for under my pillow. I never asked him if it was okay that I used one of his shirts as a nightgown, that I even took it home with me when I didn't sleep at his place. If he knows that I still have it? Probably he doesn't even think about that kind of things. Or about me, for that matter. I always wanted to give it back to him after the breakup. Well, not really "always" and not really "wanted". But the thought had briefly crossed my mind.

With a box of chocolate chip cookies, the spatula, the flannel shirt and the Bon Jovi cap I took off the coat rack when I stormed out of the house again, I stand in front of my snowman. I contemplate what kind of facial expression he should get and decide to reward myself with a friendly smile. Snowmen don't cry anyway, I suppose. Because they have a cold heart and because they are male. As I attach the baseball cap on the top, backwards of course, I have a flashback to the moment when I had given him a cap as a pre-Christmas present so many years ago. When we were still friends, long before we were lovers and even longer before we became nothing. Why does everything remind me of him? Wonders the woman who is in the middle of building a Luke-snowman, I think with a hint of sarcasm.

The shirt doesn't really fit, my snowman lacks his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Or better any arms at all. But I manage to wrap it around Frosty's icy torso and to button it up. I roll up the sleeves, fasten the spatula and step back to admire my creation.

Why have I done this? Maybe it is a cry for help. Maybe I thought dressing up a snowman like him would help to fill the empty space in my heart where the conjecture of being loved by him had been. I'm insane and in front of me stands something to prove this to the world. Probably I should destroy it before anyone sees it, but I just can't do this. It feels like I would erase the last connection to him, the last flicker of hope for a happy ending to our story. I try to imagine that this is really him, standing there next to my house in the darkness. What would I say to him? I close my eyes, take a deep breath and feel the tears I shed freeze on my cheeks. Almost soundlessly I whisper "I love you."

I wince as a shout behind me interrupts my fantasy and tears me out of my daze. "I'm fine, Babette." Is this trembling, harsh voice really mine? I turn around and see the worried and confused look on the face of my neighbor. Switching over to smiling-mode, I wave to her slightly and go to the front door. Tomorrow probably everyone in town will know the story that Lorelai Gilmore has surprisingly lost her mind. I just hope he doesn't hear about it too. Or maybe somebody should tell him what our breakup has done to me?

I'm in desperate need of my favorite beverage now. This is so not a tea or hot chocolate moment, but the box that usually holds my precious coffee is empty. I wanted to buy new today, but I didn't. Because I'm the queen of forgetfulness too. And because I unconsciously avoid to enter Doose's, the place where my misery began. Disappointed I let my jacket drop to the floor, take off my boots and go upstairs to bury myself under my blanket and add a new point to my list of reasons for self-pity.

The first thing I notice, after the barking clock wakes me up and ends my dream of bunnies demanding carrots from my snowman, is a stabbing headache. Maybe I could make it to go to work, but I doubt I would be able to pretend I'm totally fine like usually. My show doesn't take place today. I reach for the phone and after dropping it twice I manage to dial Sookie's number. Telling her that I can't come to the Dragonfly today because I caught a cold seems like the most plausible solution. Judging by my sore throat it will probably at the latest tomorrow not even be a lie. I succeed in convincing her that she doesn't have to come by and bring me some soup. It's better she doesn't see the condition me and the house are in.

Outside the window it is as dreary and grey as in my soul. I'm standing there for a long time and look down at my new friend. The flannel shirt waves in the wind and with the spatula up in the air he looks like a warning device. Danger! Crazy person living here! But somehow his sight is reassuring for me. Maybe just the knowledge to have my own flannel-clad man again makes me feel that way. He will melt away soon though, will leave me like the former owner of the blue plaid shirt did. You can't fight the forces of nature. But you could have done something against losing Luke, my conscience tells me. And for the first time I choose not to ignore it but to listen to my inner voice. I crawl back to bed and think about what I should do next, how I can get my life back on track and away from crazy snow-related incidents.

Several hours later I wake up because someone softly strokes my right hand. I open my eyes and try to get used to the unexpected brightness that fills my bedroom. My daughter is sitting on the bed next to me with a worried expression on her face. Vaguely I remember that we had a lunch date at the Dragonfly today, which apparently slipped my mind. The queen of forgetfulness strikes again. But unfortunately I fail in my attempt to forget the things I don't want to remember. I'm fully awake immediately when I realize how shocked Rory must be after seeing the snowman and the mess downstairs. Before I can explain anything she bends down and hugs me tightly. Hearing her sob makes me cry again as well. What else is new? Without me saying a word she understands everything and tells me she had no idea I'm _that_ miserable. I cup her face with my hands and tell her that I will be fine. There's nothing that I want to believe more, I just can't go on that way anymore. And I think I was at my low last night. I mean, how much worse can it get than telling an accumulation of snow that you love it?

My first time saying these three words to a man should have been with someone more special. It should have been with him. I thought it a million times, but never had enough courage to actually say it. Not yet. During the too short duration of our relationship I assumed he knew how comfortable I felt with him, that it made me happy to wake up next to him. That _he_ made me happy with just being himself. I can talk on and on about unimportant things, but when it comes to expressing my feelings I lack this ability. And so I just let him walk away, I didn't even try to fight for us. I told him that I'll respect his decision to be "out" when inside of me it screamed that I didn't and never will. In me dawns the realization that I robbed myself of the greatest possibility ever to have the whole package. Maybe that's the reason I just can't let go and continue my life without him.

"You should talk to Luke. There are some things he should know." I wonder when exactly it happened that my daughter became more grown-up than I am. She confronts me with things that I refuse to even think about. "Promise me you will at least consider it." I will. And I do. Long after Rory left for Yale again, I'm still lying in my bed and think about it. If I should do it. And how. What do I have to lose? My self-respect is as shattered as my ability to lead a normal life. As I wander through the empty house after dinner and look out of the window at Frosty, I'm suddenly ready for anything. Now or never.

I change into more decent clothes than the pajamas I'm wearing and briefly wonder if I should put on some make-up. But I think it's better to confront him with my own miserable self. No more hiding, because that's what caused all our troubles. An excuse for my visit wouldn't be so bad though, I can't just burst into into his diner -and his life- and off-load all my feelings. The best I can think of is to take something that belongs to him with me and give it back. There are many little pieces with sentimental value scattered all over the house, but I don't have time to collect them now. A delay could only make me change my mind. And so I put on a warm jacket, go out into the darkness and relieve the snowman of his shirt and spatula. I walk fast to fight against the fear that compresses my heart like a vise.

After only a few minutes I stand in front of the diner and am surprised to find the "Closed" sign already on the door. Why did he close so early? I look up to where his apartment is and see that he didn't switch off the light yet. Without a moment's hesitation I use his hidden key and enter the diner, I can't give up my plan now or I'll never be able to do this. As I climb up the stairs I remember the many times I did that before, with him following me or in anticipation to see him in a few seconds. This time I am walking up to his place awaiting a final closure. And deep down with a spark of hope that maybe this won't be really the end.

I look at the writing on his door for a long time before I pluck up the courage to knock. While I wait for him to open, my heart is beating so fast like it would shatter any minute. And then he suddenly stands in front of me, looking tired and surprised and amazing. Although I pictured this scenario secretly very often when I was crying in my bed and I prepared myself for this moment since I left my house, to really see him still makes me feel weak at the knees and I have to hold on to the doorframe. Frantically I try to think of something to say, but my mouth is totally dry and my brain apparently just takes a break.

"H...Hey." finally comes over my lips. He doesn't move a bit and just looks at me with huge eyes. Blue, beautiful eyes. With dark rings around them and slightly reddened. Had he cried? Probably I'm just imagining things and if he really had, that not necessarily has to do anything with me. We keep on staring at each other until it is too much to bear for me that he seems to have the ability to look straight into my soul. And then he clears his throat and does something that weakens me even more than seeing him again: questioning and in his unique manner he says my name. I blink to banish the tears that try to force their way out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

In a trembling voice I begin to stammer out that I only want to bring him some of his stuff, because I don't think it's right to keep it and... I get silent again. Wordlessly he makes way to let me enter his apartment and closes the door behind us. His hair sticks out on the left side of his head and I feel the urge to reach out and smooth it. I step back a little to keep my distance, just to protect myself from doing something stupid like burying my hand in his soft hair. He breaks the silence by asking me what I want to give back to him. I need a moment to realize what he means and then hold the two items out to him. Bewildered he eyes the things in my hand, forcing me to look at them too. He saves me from feeling like a fool for bringing him a soaked shirt and a kitchen tool by taking the garment and telling me to keep the spatula since it was a gift. I only nod and try to find out how I could lead over to the true reason for my visit.

Maybe asking him how he is will be a good start, but he avoids to answer by asking me exactly the same. Now we are on familiar terrain, I can deal with that. "You can't answer a question with another question." He tells me that he can and just did. Was that a smile? Did he do that on purpose to tease me? I should just act mature and take advantage of what he asked me.

"To answer your question, I don't feel very good lately. As you probably already heard." He says nothing, just looks at me. So I guess he knows about the snowman. Okay, I can do this. I take a deep breath to prepare myself for the long speech I'm about to make and the negative reaction it will maybe cause.

"The reason I'm really her is that I want to tell you why I feel so bad. I think I owe that to you and to me too. Do...do you remember the day when you broke up with me?" After my last sentence he frowns and folds his arms in front of his chest. I continue speaking before I lose my faith that I can push my plan through.

"Ehm, stupid question. Of course you remember. You don't have amnesia or something. You know, like in that one movie with Drew Barrymore and..." What the hell is wrong with me? I pause once more and laugh artificially. This is harder than I thought it would be. Why can't I just tell him? I guess I should add queen of rambling to my other titles. Now focus on the essence and leave out the unimportant movie facts, Lorelai!

"Anyway, that day was the worst of my life. I did not only lose you but also myself. I don't even know anymore what it means to have fun. Do you want to know what I did those past seven weeks? Nothing. Every day was exactly the same like the one before. Not one thing happened that would be worth to remember one hour later. The reason is that since I met you for the first time all the memorable things in my life always were in some way connected with you. And now that I don't have you anymore I don't even have a life, I just exist and pretend that I love living like that. I go to work and laugh without meaning it. And I drink way too much coffee to feel at least a little bit alive. I eat things that you would throw away if you'd see them. Sometimes I forget to eat at all. I feel like it doesn't matter if I would die of starvation. And I do crazy things like building snowmen which look like you in the middle of the night. In my pajamas. I can't think about anything else than you and what we had. It is so hard to know that I screwed up everything. I never wanted to hurt you in any way, you have to believe me that. But I was scared that something could come between us, that I could lose you. I was aware that we were risking our friendship when we started dating, that we would never be able to go back if our relationship wouldn't work out. But to say the truth, the thought that we couldn't make it never crossed my mind. We both waited for this so long and it just felt so right from the beginning. I told you that I was all in and I meant it. I thought you were all that I would need to be happy for the rest of my life and now I don't have anything at all. I'm so sorry that I off-load all that now, I should have told you long ago before it was too late. It's just that I miss you so much. Although I don't know how, I have to try to get my life under control again. I hate how things are between us, that we don't even talk with each other anymore. But just looking at you now hurts so much that I think it's impossible to change our situation in the future. So, I guess this is a goodbye... Thank you so much for the most amazing four months of my life, I will keep them in my heart forever. There is one last think I need you to know. I regret that I wasn't able to tell you this earlier and now it doesn't matter anymore, but..." I speak all the words at full speed without wasting time to breathe. Unsuccessfully I try to avoid crying and while talking I study his facial expression carefully through the haze of my tears. He doesn't change his position at all during my speech and his face doesn't give away any clue of what he is thinking or feeling. Nevertheless I have to finish what I started. Saying it to the snowman was so much easier, but finally I manage to say "I love you".

He blinks. Twice. And doesn't say anything. I watch him a little longer, but nothing happens. "That's all I wanted to tell you. Me and my spatula should probably go home now. Okay, bye." I glance once more at his inscrutable expression and then get ready to leave his apartment. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. I felt better while I let all my emotions out, but now the effect begins to wear off. Some kind of reaction by him would have been nice, everything would be better than his silence. This is the end now. The realization is more than I can bear and I have trouble to walk the few steps to the door. I can break down later, but first I have to get out of here.

As my hand touches the door handle I sense a movement behind me and suddenly I feel a strong arm around my waist. "Don't go." My heart skips a beat as I hear his words and deeply inhale his intoxicating scent. A few words and a little touch of him and I'm on fire. I'm overwhelmed by this unexpected closeness, confused what this all means for us. Wondering if this is real, I hesitantly reach out and cover his arm with my hand. His skin is warm and hairy and familiar. I can feel the little scar, that I used to stroke with my index finger when we were lying in bed together. I always wanted to ask him how he got it, but never did.

Slowly I turn around to look at him. He still has that serious expression, but with another undertone that I'm not able to read. His eyes are moist with tears as he repeats "Don't go, Lorelai." I should ask him why he wants me to stay, what he has to say to all the things I told him. But my mind races and I lost the ability to speak again. And deep in my heart I know the answers anyway. So I just nod, drop the spatula I clang to the whole time and finally give in to the urge to tame his wild hair.

He presses his head against my hand as I touch him and closes his eyes. In this moment I realize that he must have felt as miserable as I have, that my touch is a kind of therapy that he absorbs with every fiber of his body. I close my eyes too and we are standing like this for what seems like an eternity. How is it possible that one minute in his arms makes me forget all the pain and tears and doubts of the last seven weeks? While I still contemplate if I should open my eyes again I suddenly feel his lips brushing against mine, softly and almost not noticeable. I feel like I would have never been kissed before, as if my mourning period has deleted all my memories of other kisses I have experienced in my life.

With my eyes still closed I feel his nose briefly touching my own when he rests his forehead against mine. His breath tickles my skin as he says in a husky voice "I love you too." I look him full in the face now and discover that his eyes express the same like he just told me. As a wave of relief washes over me I swallow hard, my lips shiver and probably I would have tumbled if he wouldn't still hold me tight. That's all I need to know, we will have plenty of time for profound conversations about everything else later. But right now I just long to feel him, to make up for all the time we lost.

My body aches for the touch of his hands to heal the bruises all over my heart and soul that our separation caused. Apparently we are on the same page, because he removes my jacket with one swift motion and then lets his hands go on a journey under my shirt. As they force their way from my waist up my back I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him hard on his lips. He responds immediately by opening his mouth and letting my tongue enter. Dazed I hear the weak noise of buttons falling to the floor as I struggle to get rid of the purple with grey flannel shirt that covers the precious skin of his upper body. Willingly I hold up my arms that he can take off my shirt, then I obey the magnetic effect that his bare chest has on my hands. My lips don't seem to be able to resist the magnetism as well. I draw circles with my tongue all over his skin and he appreciates this with a loud moan. We continue to hungrily explore each others bodies, cumbersome garments are thrown to the floor as we head for the bed.

His hands seem to be everywhere at the same time, not that I'm complaining. I cling to his hair as I enjoy the sensation of feeling his stubble tickling my stomach and my thigh again after such a long time. I knew our foreplay wouldn't last forever, too strong is our desire after seven weeks of abstinence. Finally, when I almost can't stand it anymore, he gently but vigorously enters me. Before we get lost in the passionate rhythm of lovemaking, we share a moment of total calmness. As I lie here underneath him, I look into his eyes, touch his lips with one finger and then cover them with my own. This is it. Us. Forever. He begins to move, slowly first but soon more and more passionately. We keep eye contact the whole time, tell each other with looks, moans and words how much we missed each other and that we will hold on to what we have more firmly this time. My hands wander down his body, I wrap my legs more tightly around his waist to feel him even deeper. After many minutes of absolute pleasure it takes only a few more thrusts to cause my heart to beat faster and faster and to start the fireworks inside of me.

We stay connected and intimately intertwined till our breathing reachs a normal pace again. Afterwards I snuggle up to him as close as possible. We tell each other that we're sorry how things turned out, that fear and offended pride kept us apart so long. We promise to never let this happen again. I am confident we can achieve this, the knowledge of how it feels to be without the other is too deep as that we would risk to experience that again. I finally allowed myself to tear down the wall I built around my feelings and to give myself to him completely. And now I'm rewarded with feeling save and loved like never before in my life.

My eyes are confronted with the familiar sight of flannel sheets as I open my eyes to the world again after a night of the most relaxing sleep I had for weeks. But it was not the most sleep, that's for sure. We were too busy with enjoying our renewed relationship. His arms are wrapped around me from behind. Cautiously I turn to lie on my back that I can look at him. Watching him sleep with his mouth slightly open makes me smile.

For a while I just lie next to him, stroke his arm with my hand and his leg with my foot, listen to our breathing. But suddenly the peacefulness of the morning is interrupted by some undefinable noise from outside. Is that the sound of a trumpet? My curiosity wins over the urge to stay in my comfortable position in bed close to him. He stirs as I try to get out of bed and tightens his grip around my waist. "Where do you think you're going?" he asks with closed eyes. I reassure him that I won't go anywhere without him and that I only want to find out the origin of the strange noise. He opens his eyes and makes me swear that I will never leave him. By our first born child. Needless to say that this makes my heart flutter. I take the oath and seal it with a long and lingering kiss.

His tongue massaging mine makes me forget that I wanted to get up, but then another loud drum roll reminds me. He lets out a frustrated groan as I detach my lips from his. I don't bother to slip into one of the flannel shirts on the floor like I used to do and walk to the window naked as I am. I guess if you bare your soul for someone it also doesn't matter anymore to cover your body. A tingling feeling grows inside of me as I can feel his eyes on me. The view outside of the window is unexpected but funny. He places himself behind me and draws me close. "We're living in a town of lunatics." The large number of residents parading along the streets and holding up signs that announce our reconciliation is enough proof for his statement. News travel very fast here. But as disturbing as the sight of Kirk in a Cupid costume is, I have to admit that it's nice to know everyone is so happy for us.

He easily diverts my attention from the crazy crowd outside by drawing irregular circles on my belly with his thumb. His breath dances on my neck as he bends forward to gently kiss my shoulder. I can feel his reaction that the closeness to my naked body produces. My sigh tells him that it's time to go back to bed. As soon as we arrive there his lips begin to follow a path down my body starting at my collarbone. His tongue reaches the spot between my breasts where I'm ticklish and I finally let out a genuine and loud laugh I repressed for weeks because I didn't have a reason for cheerfulness. He raises his head to look at my face and then he joins in, hesitantly first but soon we are both not able to stop. Still laughing I roll him over to be on top of him, he pulls me into a tight hug and I lay my head on his chest.

There is nothing but the two of us in the world at this moment, no sound but the beating of our hearts in perfect unison. We are oblivious to everything else, all that matters now is us. After a while I decide that it is time to refresh my memory where on his body he is ticklish. Only a couple of hours ago all I could feel was pain. But now simple things like the gentle touch of his hand on my hair or the warmth of his skin on my lips make me indescribably happy. And that he tells me again that he loves me even increases my happiness. The feeling is marvelous.

_\- End of Story-_


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